Untamed (A Bad Boy Secret Baby Romance)(116)

I shake free of his hand, and he raises the gun and points it at me. Rainwater pours off the tip of the barrel. “Walk.”

“Where?”

“Inside the school.”

I look at the front entrance, and there see the glass inlaid in the door shattered. Frank. I push open the unlocked door, and we walk down a school corridor – something only distantly familiar to me – past lockers and classrooms.

“Find the gym,” Glass orders. “We’ll need some space.”

I look up at the hanging signage, take a right turn, and then we step outside briefly before coming to the gymnasium. It’s two indoor basketball courts side-by-side, with bleachers surrounding them.

Where is Dee? I blink my eyes rapidly, adjusting to the darkness, before I spot her at the far end, sitting on the bleachers, Frank right behind her. He’s got a gun pressed into her back.

I grit my teeth, feel my blood boil.

“Move!” Glass barks.

Dee meets my eyes. They’re wide, shiny, scared. Her eyes go from me to Bullock, and it dawns on her what is about to happen. I stare into her eyes, shake my head a little. I hope she knows the message I’m trying to convey to her.

Don’t do anything stupid! Protect the baby!

Glass gestures at me with the gun to walk into the middle of the nearest basketball court. So I do, stand at half-court.

Bullock starts to remove his jacket, unbuttons his shirt and takes it off. He’s wearing nothing underneath, and when I see the disciplined lines of his body, I realize he’s built like a tank.

There’s no fucking outmuscling this guy.

“Fight,” Glass says to me, gesturing at Bullock. The huge man drops into a stance, starts to circle me. I watch him, then look back at Glass.

“I said fight!” Glass shouts, and he pulls the trigger on his gun. The bang is deafening, bounces around the gym, and the bullet splinters wood three feet from me.

“Damn it, Glass!” I roar, advancing on him, but he lifts the gun to my head. I stop in my tracks.

“Fight,” he says. “I’m eager to see you lose for once.”

I turn around, see Bullock approach me, skipping lightly on his feet. He’s leading with his right – he’s a southpaw. A left-hander. I’ve only fought two really good left-handers before, and they were tough. The timing is different, the positioning, everything.

I’m in no fucking state to fight.

I take off my jacket and pull off my shirt, throw it all onto the hardwood. The last thing I need is to give him something to grab onto, to tug me around by, to strangle me with.

“Come on you big bastard,” I growl at him, lifting my hands, getting into my stance. I can’t think of anything else to do at the moment. I’ll beat this fucking brute into the ground and then I’ll get after Glass. At least it’ll be one less man to deal with.

“You come,” he says to me.

He curls his fingers in front of me, beckons me. I straighten up, get out of my stance, laugh at his cockiness.

Bullock takes the bait. He lunges, a double hop, left foot out like a cobra ready to strike. I slap his foot, use my upright stance – my body-weight imbalance – to lead my spin around him. I almost fall, my body at forty-five degrees as I pivot, but regain my balance and throw an elbow into the back of his head.

That’s a big no-no in the cage, even in underground, but fuck fighter’s etiquette.

He stumbles forward, holding onto his head, turning his neck left and right. I hear his vertebrae click as pockets of air between his bones are released.

“You come,” I say to him, beckon with my fingers, flash him a grin.

“Get him, Bullock!” Glass shouts. He’s circling us manically, baring his teeth. The prospect of a beat down obviously gets him excited.

Bullock approaches me more carefully now. He’s dancing on his feet, shifting his weight back and forth in quick rhythm. He does it so he can easily switch pivot foots to dodge or counter, but I turtle up, lift my hands protectively, gaze at him from the gap between my two arms like a boxer.

Glass should recognize this, the fucking bastard.

“Get him!” Glass yells again, forcing Bullock to charge.

Bullock tests a jab, I sidestep it. He tries again, again, this time feints but I see it coming. His right jabs, his left swings wide for a hook. I dodge the jab, duck the hook, thump him in the gut with a quick one-two, then send a heel right onto his kneecap.

He drops to one knee, and I lift my own, trying to catch him on the chin, knock him out. But he sees it coming, forms a net with his interlocked fingers to catch my knee, then twists.

I slap against hardwood, my whole body pivoted like I was a mere fucking garden rake. Fuck, this guy is strong.